Possessed
by Radstock May
Summary: A run of the mill muggle is possessed by a spirit. What does Harry have to do with it? [Complete OneShot]


**Possessed**

**By Radstock May**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything here, don't sue.

Summary: A run-of-the-mill muggle is possessed by a spirit. What does Harry have to do with it?

**Part I – The Possession **

Contrary to popular belief, working at a morgue was not all together eye-opening, fascinating, or in the very least, a wise career move. After all, dead bodies aren't capable of much, even at Halloween.

The only occurrence worth noting in twenty years of handling dead bodies and their affairs happened as the month of August surrendered to nippy autumn winds.

It was an ordinary night, of any ordinary week, of any ordinary month.

Except I seemed to be hosting a hurricane in the main office. All of a sudden, papers on the desk, pictures on the walls, and chairs and coffee tables were jerked violently around the room as though seized in indescribable high gales. My own tie was flapping about in my face, stationery soaring past my nose, and I was forced to grab the edge of the heavy oak table to stop myself parting with firm ground.

Nippy autumn winds to a sudden hurricane in such a short space of time? I refused to believe it was anything supernatural; along with the nerves of steel I had inherited from my father, we were alike in stoically believing the simplest explanation was often the best. Clearly, there was a burst air vent somewhere in the building.

'Martha! Would you help me-' I called to the airhead secretary, but stopped. I was about to call, to ask her to join me in an attempt to bar the windows against the windstorm, but I remembered with a jolt –

There was no air vent. There were no windows.

The single door was closed firmly.

The noise of the gale! Odds and ends, but mostly ends, continued to flurry about the room like an invisible someone was levitating objects at will.

Then, following the script of any horror movie, the lights flickered on and off, and on and off and –

It was attempting to spook me, to rattle my nerves of steel. I did not know what 'it' was exactly, but it definitely could not be anything that could be swept from my recollection with a bottle of brandy later that night.

I fumbled for a torch. As light poured into the room I could see that the furniture and miscellany that had been airborne like leaves had suddenly dropped to the floor.

But now there was something else on the wind. Sounds - like a hissing. Simply, I reasoned with myself, it was air hissing overhead through the damaged vent. But one halting moment later I realised I was terribly wrong.

Breathing. Panting.

_Down my neck._

I felt like I had been dowsed in a bucket of ice cold water. Such an odd feeling, radiating through my body from my spine – I have never felt anything quite like it, and I was on the threshold of not believing it was even happening to me, until I felt stale breaths on my cheeks, a horrible pressing at my eyeballs…

I do not recall anything else from that night at the morgue.

Later, I learnt that Martha came across me – eyes closed, lips parted, having a seizure on the ground.

Precisely seven days later I found myself ripped from my bed. It was far too chilly for an August night. I awoke with the impression that someone was standing over me, bent sharply at the spine. His face was directly in front of me, barely a hand length from my nose. Somehow, I knew it was a man. Only, I couldn't distinguish a single feature on the man's face; it was darker than even the night.

That night, I put it down to too much brandy.

Another week from the incident at the morgue, and I'm startled from my sleep to find I was, astoundingly, standing upright in my empty fireplace with a clenched fist outstretched.

From that night on, the brandy bottles were padlocked at the very back of the kitchen cupboards.

'Oh! Mr Farrows!' exclaimed Martha, bouncing a little in her chair. 'I didn't know you wore contacts!'

'Excuse me?'

Martha indicated my eyes. 'I've always thought your eyes were bright blue… but now… but now, they're definitely a dark brown! What a change it makes, wearing contacts-'

'But I don't wear contacts…' I thought aloud, with a hand raised to my eyelids.

'Hmm, you could've done some damage in that fall you had last month,' said Martha in an attempt to be sage. 'You looked awfully stricken when you came around.'

'Of course,' I allowed, and departed quickly.

The incidents, as I came to call them, edged up a notch in frequency and severity. All the liquor I owned had been poured down the kitchen sink. I would regularly find myself going to bed as I normally would, only to wake with cold feet and drenched pant hems from the early morning dew, outside and several streets away from my bed.

On the fourth occasion this had happened, I decided that an end to the madness was to take top priority.

'What – is – this?' I bellowed to the air, knowing I would be heard. 'What's happening to me?'

The winds around me intensified.

I suppose the only thing you could call it was _possession, _even though I'd debated long and hard over every other possible explanation in my head.

Perhaps I was losing my sanity. Perhaps my nerves of steel were rusting.

But somehow no other explanation, simple or not, seemed to fit the stretches of time where I couldn't remember where I had been or what I'd been doing. Somehow, possession was the only reason that covered the impressions that I felt, or sensed, in the unoccupied depths of my mind. These impressions suddenly imbedded in my thoughts, with no origin or cause to be in my head at all was like a presence inside my head _urging _me to find an unknown something that was deeply, desperately longed for.

It was always in my head. Only now, I couldn't call it _my _head; instead, and I loathed the very idea, it was _our _head. I had to share it with a stranger. I was not frightened, only desperate to find what my visitor was seeking and return to my blissfully uneventful, ordinary life.

It seemed dead bodies _were _capable of something after all.

After two months I discovered I wasn't hunting for an object. Most mysteriously, I was told literally by my own hands and not while I was asleep. Instead, what would be my second to last incident of possession occurred when I was conscious, dozing lightly by the fire while writing my weekly letter of complaint to the local newspaper.

Although my eyes were not closed, I felt the room grow dark. I sensed tendrils creeping through the crevices of my mind. I thought of it as a shadowed hand, with my brain seized in its deliberate and unyielding hold.

I knew it was coming for me, taking over.

I watched in escalating apprehension as, beyond my control, my own hand inched forward, fingers clumsily grasping a pen, lowering it to paper shakily but with fierce intent.

I wrote. The words were extracted from my mind, where they'd been hiding, where they shouldn't have been.

Three words carved into paper, discernable even with jerks and inkblots.

_Find Harry Potter. _

**Part II – The Meeting**

An ill-looking, bespectacled boy opened the door to Number Four Privet Drive. He looked around sixteen; judging by his emancipated frame he could even have been younger, yet curiously, the weary and worn expression on his face made him appear double his years.

I inclined my head respectfully. 'Good morning, I'm looking for Harry Potter. I believe he lives at this residence?'

'Yeah, you've got him.'

I started. The kid raised an eyebrow challengingly.

'You're Harry Potter?' I asked.

'Yes.'

'Harry James Potter of Surrey?'

The boy crossed his arms across his chest. 'Expecting someone taller?' he said with badly disguised bitterness.

What could I say? How could I have predicted a teenage boy would be the answer to my prolonged suffering?

Suddenly inexplicably tired with the entire situation, I said 'This will take some explaining. May I come in?'

'I'm busy sir,' Potter said mechanically. 'I've got schoolwork and –'

'This is more important,' I said forcefully. 'Not off to save the world, are you?'

An odd look washed over the boy's face. Then, he met my eyes steadily, smiled, and said 'No. No, of course I'm not.'

I made a smug noise. _Of course he wasn't. How can a teenager save the world? The world doesn't even need saving! _

I waited on the doorstep while the teen considered me. After a handful of moments he sighed resignedly. I knew he wouldn't refuse.

'Hold on, you're being – ah - checked over… being given the all-clear to enter the house,' said the boy, looking over my shoulder, as though something had caught his attention.

Thinking this was some new technological security system, I waited for the all-clear. Not long after, Potter opened the door wider and stepped aside. He quickly snapped the door shut before I was fully over the threshold, clipping my heels.

Following the boy into the sitting room, I caught a whiff of strong cleaning agents as I passed the kitchen. Without even looking back, Potter seemed to sense my nose wrinkling at the stench.

'Sorry, it's my Aunt's,' he mumbled.

'You don't live with your parents?' I asked to his back.

Without turning around he said, 'They're both dead.'

My confusion grew. Some spirit demanded I meet with a scrawny orphaned teenager?

I sat opposite him in an upright armchair, Harry on the sofa. The room was freakishly clean. We stared at each other in terse silence. He seemed to be waiting for me to speak. I cleared my throat.

'My name is Edward Farrows. I'm not quite sure why I'm here, only that I've been sent,' I paused here, gauging his reaction. Hope inside me began to resurface: perhaps _he _knew who was behind this debacle?

'Sent by whom?' Harry asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

'Good question, I'd rather like to know myself.'

'You don't know who sent you?' the boy asked incredulously.

'Listen – it's strange circumstances and I don't really know myself. I was just told to find a Harry Potter, so here I am!' I said, and as the boy continued to watch me blankly, any faith I once had of solving this mystery was now as dead as my clients.

The kid just stared at me, as though he was bored! Yes, any hope, faith, whatever you call the damn thing, was now well and truly worse than dead, buried six feet under a tonne of earth. At least he wasn't laughing at me.

'I think I've got the wrong Harry Potter,' I said, now starting to stand.

'Trust me, Mr Farrows,' said Potter, holding out his hand, 'if anything strange has happened to you, you can bet you have the right Harry Potter.'

Now it was my turn to consider the boy. For the first time I noticed a scar on his forehead, shaped peculiarly like a lightning bolt.

'Strange your middle name, eh?' I said. I was perpetually amused by clichéd sayings.

'Along with Misunderstood, Reckless, and Tragic, yeah,' Potter said and for a moment we looked at each other like we were both _about to _smile. Suddenly, I got the distinct impression that he didn't have much to smile about either.

'Why don't you sit down and tell me the story behind you ending up on my doorstep,' said Potter. He said it civilly and thoughtfully; the first sign of maturity since I arrived.

And so I told him, starting with the hurricane I found in my office at the morgue, to the strange occurrences that had plagued my life for two months. By the time I had finished explaining, the boy looked relatively unperturbed.

'Right,' Potter said at length. I thought he would have reservations about my recount of events, but he seemed to believe it – from what I could tell, he certainly wasn't questioning my sanity.

'Can we contact someone who can help us?' I suggested. _He was just a kid, after all._

'No,' said Potter, very quickly. 'I'm capable, I can do this myself.'

Something about the way the boy had said that made me feel as though he had been stripped of the privilege, if it could be called that, of solving one's own problems. The boy looked suddenly excited at the prospect of being independent, like a child removed of his bike's training wheels.

'Does this mean you believe what I just told you?'

Potter laughed hollowly. 'I've dealt with evil worse than possessions, believe me, but yeah – I don't think you're delusional or anything.'

'I know I'm not delusional, thanks!' I said roughly, but Potter raised his eyebrow again and I continued more gently, 'But thanks for believing me.'

He waved his hand dismissively. Then, he jumped to his feet and began to pace the room. He ran his hand through his very black, very messy hair as he did so.

'This spirit, it made you write the words 'Find Harry Potter'?'

'That is correct.'

'Then I think,' Potter said slowly, thoughtfully, 'I have to make contact with it, somehow, before I try to, erm, extract it.'

I glared at him, feeling it was his entire fault I got tangled in this mess in the first place. 'I can't imagine what it'd have to say to you, something so crucial and urgent it needed to employ me as messenger!'

'Neither do I, which you see, is why I need to ask it!'

'Well, invite me to the party as well, I want to find out the reason my life was hijacked, and God help me, it'd better be accompanied with an explanation and apolo-'

'Could you please be quiet for a moment?' Potter said through clenched teeth. 'I'm trying to think!'

At that moment, a lady with extraordinary resemblance to a starved horse came in from the kitchen. I immediately knew she was the aunt; she was wearing thick cleaning gloves.

Before her eyes fell on me she had rounded on Potter. 'Another one?!' the woman screeched. 'How many times do we have to-?'

'He's not _one of them_, Aunt Petunia,' Potter said defensively. 'He _is_ like you… he's just some guy conducting a neighbourhood survey and I had nothing better to do.'

'I'm sorry to interrupt, ma'am,' I said, following along. 'We'll be done in a few minutes.'

I could tell that she didn't believe us. Looking sour, she hissed some expletive to Potter – something about 'venom' – and stalked out of the room, leaving Potter looking relatively unruffled.

'I think we need another meeting place,' said Potter, stating the obvious.

'Does this mean you want to help me, kid?'

Potter didn't even hesitate. 'Trust me; I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do. Ten o'clock, tomorrow night, park near the corner of Magnolia and Wisteria.'

I departed, feeling peculiarly optimistic.

**Part III – The Exorcism**

Harry pulled his coat in tighter. The night was chilly, but the halo of greenery he was standing among did at least provide some protection from the wind. Harry had spent the afternoon scouting the corners of the local neighbourhood park for a private, isolated area to meet Mr Farrows and had found one towards the north-eastern edge of the park. It was a rather large dip of land behind the vandalised and broken down toilet block (most likely a result of Dudley and his gang). On the side opposite to the grassy slope was a crooked, dilapidated arbour long invaded by weeds, which violently rattled and swayed with the night's breeze; on the remaining sides were intermittent sprouts of flowerless greenery.

Harry particularly favoured this spot because the easiest way to approach it was a gravel path leading from the main park; he would long hear the footsteps of visitors before they arrived. For his own piece of mind, he had mentally designed a quick escape route, through a gap between two bare trees to the left.

He hoped he wouldn't need it. The night would be dangerous enough without any external opposition.

Pinned to a tree trunk in the middle of the park was the note Harry left to direct Mr Farrows. At night, this park was deserted out of fear of Dudley's gang and even if Dudley or his friends had found the note, he doubted they were intelligent enough to read, or make sense of it.

Harry continued setting up the scene, checking off the items in his head. Old fold-up chair – _check_. Rope – _check._ Candles – _check._ Most importantly, wand – _checked and double-checked._

The soft throat clearing, and then the voice came as Harry was setting the last candle in its place in the circle around the chair.

'I can't let you go through with this, Harry.'

Lupin was standing, cloak in hand, directly behind him. His wand wasn't beared but he still looked wary, on guard.

'You followed me!' Harry accused, a sudden hotness in his stomach now replacing the flutter of nerves. After all his planning!

'Harry, you _know_ we're watching you. Just be lucky it was me and not someone like Moody,' said Lupin reasonably. 'I do have some faith in your judgement.'

'How much did you hear?' Harry demanded. 'How much do you know?'

'I was on duty when Farrows approached the house–'

'But that was Tonks' shift!'

'There was paperwork that needed signing, so I was early in relieving her shift,' Lupin remarked, now frowning a little. 'But I was standing in the garden watching the two of you converse – of course I had checked the character over and he didn't seem to pose a threat, no hints of a magical signature – but as it's you Harry, he had to be treated as one. I came in through the back door of Number Four.'

'I assumed it was fine. Tonks didn't give any sign not to,' Harry said, feeling remarkably feeble. 'I thought that if there was she would've, I dunno, given me a signal or warning. I can handle it anyway, if there was.'

'I know you can,' Lupin said gently.

Harry grudgingly conceded that his old professor was right. It was lucky that it had been Lupin on shift, and not someone who would've immediately contacted Dumbledore and handed over the matter.

'So you know the story, I guess?'

'I heard everything, Harry James Strange Misunderstood Reckless and… what was the other one?' Lupin said, smiling lightly.

Feeling embarrassed, Harry turned his back on Lupin and began clearing more of the leaf debris the wind had blown into the clearing, when another thought occurred to him.

'He _is_ a muggle though. He's nowhere near capable of being in Voldemort's league!'

Lupin, looking deadly grave, said, 'But the spirit possessing him could be.'

Harry looked away angrily. Of course, he had thought of that – he wasn't entirely stupid! – but it wasn't as though the blood protection would miss an antagonistic force when entering Number Four. Besides, Harry was _not_ a child – if there was a threat, he'd be delighted to show the Order what he really was capable of. And, thought Harry, they had no idea how frustrating it was to be locked up with his relatives all summer – a bit of action would do nicely to break the monotony, as Sirius once told him.

'So… fine, you heard everything. Why didn't you stop me sooner?'

'As I said, I do have some trust in your judgement. What you're doing is risky, we both know that, but I think we're both well aware of your capacity to handle danger. I also think you wanted to do something helpful, something fruitful, and prove that you can be independent from the Order. It's why, I guessed, you allowed Farrows to enter Number Four, and why you used your father's Cloak to throw off the Order walking down here.

'So what did I do? I gave you a chance to do this, albeit one that was carefully, scrupulously looked over by me. I planned on stepping in the moment things turned too nasty.'

'I wanted to do this by myself,' Harry said hotly. 'It's about _me_ so _I_ should be the one to solve whatever it is. No offence, but I didn't want to hand it straight over to the Order.'

'I know, Harry, in fact I agree. But you shouldn't exclude outside help, either.' Lupin moved in closer to him, looking concerned. 'I _do _want to help you. And right now I'll offer some advice for you to –'

They heard the scrunching of gravel under footsteps. Lupin's hand flew to his coat pocket. Harry stepped forward.

Edward Farrows emerged into the clearing. He was still wearing his hat even at this time of night, covering his mostly bald head but allowing the tufts of white hair on either side to be visible. There was nothing grandfatherly about him, in his intelligent eagle eyes, severe moustache and immaculately pressed suit. Yet there was nothing extraordinary about him either – minus the fact that he seemed to be hosting a particularly demanding spirit.

'I got your note,' he said, 'you need lessons in proper grammar-'

His eyes fell on Lupin. He turned to Harry, and standing very stiffly said 'I was under the impression that broadcasting my condition _wasn't_ part of the agreement.'

'It might be prudent to add here I'm the only other person who is privy to the situation,' elaborated Lupin politely. 'But it is growing late… shall we?'

As Harry worked on making Edward feel as comfortable as possible for a man strapped to a fold-out chair, Lupin became immersed in setting up a number of protective enchantments around the circle.

'Is that a real wand?' Farrows asked sharply, eyeing Lupin's intricate waving in time to sparks of gold light erupting from his wand. They fell in a perfect circle encapsulating the three.

Harry merely nodded. Never mind the Statute of Secrecy now – they were about to magically exorcise a muggle! – and in any case, Harry had more pressing issues on his mind; he was on the verge of learning who Farrows was possessed by, and why he wanted contact.

Several moments later Harry straightened up, having just finished the knot on Farrows' ankle. Lupin came to stand behind Harry and rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

'From your account of the possession incidents,' said Lupin, 'it is likely that the spirit will, ah, make itself known any moment you're in the right mind state.'

'Occasionally it has happened while I was conscious,' offered Farrows. 'It's purely a case of the waiting game.'

'That is unnecessary,' said Lupin kindly. 'I know that Harry has researched and happened across a spell that will relax a person's mind so any foreign, invasive force may be questioned, captured or banished. I already know it, of course. I've used it before.'

'So you know how to handle that thing?' said Farrows with the first hint of apprehension, looking again at Lupin's wand.

'He knows. Trust us,' placated Harry.

'Just relax. It won't work if you try to resist,' Lupin added.

'Here,' said Farrows suddenly, and pulled out an old muggle dictaphone from his coat pocket. 'I had a very strong feeling I needed to bring this with me tonight.'

Harry took it, pressed 'record', and carefully set it in front of Farrow.

'Good thinking, it's likely you won't remember much of what is about to happen. And when you're-' Harry paused, _conscious _seemed too extreme '- talking again, you can find out what the spirit said, if you want.'

Farrows looked surprisingly calm. 'Let's just do this. Try not to kill me, please.'

A moment later Lupin brandished his wand and cried '_Expellere cordis!'_

The effect was instantaneous. Edward Farrow's eyes went unfocused, his jaw slackened, and on the chair arms his clenched knuckles were as white as any full moon. A horrible gurgling noise issued from Farrow's mouth. Sickened, Harry realised that the spirit was clumsily attempting control of the host's voicebox and jaw in an effort to communicate – to communicate with him, Harry.

_I knew you'd find the way, Harry Potter. _

'Who are you?' Lupin demanded at once. 'What is your business?'

Then, unnervingly, Farrows' bloodshot and unfocused eyes shifted to gaze directly into Harry's own. Instantly, Harry knew something had formed between them. He could not break eye contact; he was compelled to stare into the old man's brown eyes, and hungrily they stared back, not just into his eyes, but _through_ him…

_You must allow me to give you my message. This was a long time in coming. It required scrupulous planning of my host, a powerless victim to hold my spirit while I attempted contact with you. It could not be a wizard, of course, as they would immediately employ magical means to expel me as something foreign and unwanted. I chose Edward Farrows purely for his nerves. Nerves so strong, perhaps, that warranted me to summon high winds to fully capture his attention in the beginning._

_Harry Potter, haven't you noticed his attitude to the supernatural? Here was someone who was not frightened instantly by my presence, but instead denied to himself the very thing that was happening to him, someone who did not panic, someone I could manipulate to communicate my message, in time…_

'You needed him – why?' asked Harry urgently, speaking out loud. 'Why did you need to contact me?'

Harry's eyes were still locked on Farrows', but in his periphery he saw Lupin turn to face Harry, an expression of sheer perplexity and horror on his face.

'Harry! Can you – _understand_ -?'

Even though he felt in a trance, Harry was vaguely aware how noisy the surroundings were: Lupin was shouting 'Harry! Harry, _look at me!_'' and Farrows was making strange unintelligible grunts and gurgles, as though a paralysed jaw was desperately trying to squeeze comprehensible syllables through his teeth. Was the voice he was hearing completely in his head?

_You have another soul alongside you, an ally. This was unexpected. The information I am about to part with was intended for your ears only. Do not ask how I came across this information; know only that I have it and it's imperative for you in this war. Although I'd very much love to meet you in person, it's my wish that it won't be for many more decades at least…_

'You have to tell me who you are!' shouted Harry, and he could see that Remus was looking frantic and shouting his name, his wand now trained on him and Farrows spluttering away in front of him.

_You must allow me to give you my message. I want you to survive. I will abandon Farrows. You must allow me to give you my message. My name –_

Harry felt himself released; he was broken from his trance. He took in great gulps of air – he didn't realise he had been holding his breath throughout the ordeal. And while other senses came back to him – the night's chill, Lupin's face swimming into focus, the alien sounds coming from Farrow's stiffened body – the last words Harry heard were still ringing in his head.

Lupin had both hands on his shoulders. 'Are you okay, Harry?'

'What did you do?' Harry demanded furiously. 'You shouldn't've done – whatever you did, it stopped me from knowing –'

Lupin shook his head solemnly. 'I didn't do anything, Harry. No spells. You were frozen in some sort of trance, or staring competition, or _something-_' Lupin nodded towards Farrows who hadn't silenced '- and you were shouting like you could understand him… and then, you just went limp, blinked, and I knew you'd been released.'

He was studying Harry intently, a faint crease above his brow. 'Could you understand him, Harry? He wasn't speaking Parseltongue.'

'No, he wasn't,' said Harry shortly. For reasons unknown, he didn't feel like it was appropriate to share what he had heard. The message was for him, after all. If the spirit chose not to speak in front of Lupin, even as an ally, then neither would Harry.

Lupin was looking at him expectantly, but Harry was saved from an explanation as a chilling silence fell upon the clearing; Farrows had finally quietened and was pulling himself up from where he had sagged in his seat. His eyes had become focused again and were roving across the clearing until he found Lupin and Harry.

Farrows blinked at them. 'It's gone. I can tell.'

'It has,' confirmed Harry.

Lupin used his wand to free Farrows from his bonds, who then leant forward in his chair. 'Do you know? Do you know who – what –?'

'Yes,' said Harry. 'He gave me his name and who he was.'

Lupin and Farrows were on tenterhooks.

'Well?'

'It – it's my grandfather.'

**Part IV – The Aftermath**

'You're-!'

Lupin dropped his wand in surprise.

'_Was_ your grandfather,' Farrows stated matter-of-factly. 'He's gone now. He's not here. He was dead in the first place.'

Harry couldn't answer but looked up into Lupin's face. 'Phillip Potter. Did you ever meet him?'

'Once,' said Lupin. 'Your parent's wedding. He was very social, amiable… well-liked. He died of natural causes before you were born.'

Harry nodded. Somehow, he wasn't sure of the logic behind it, but Harry was feeling a distinct loss. Never, in the life he remembered, had he ever spoken to a blood relative besides Aunt Petunia, and yet here he was, standing alive in a Surrey park having just had a conversation with a long dead, blood relative. _He had just spoken to his father's father._ A connection to his past…

Feeling Lupin's eyes on him, and not wanting to appear as though anything was wrong, Harry forced himself to speak.

'I think he's sorry for hijacking your life for a bit,' said Harry. 'He said it was necessary… the information. But I didn't even hear it.'

Farrows did not smile, but said lightly, 'Oh yes, information to save the world, wasn't it?'

'Yeah, something like that,' Harry mumbled.

'Do you think the dictaphone might have caught something?' Farrows suggested, and Lupin quickly picked up the instrument, pressed 'play', and held it to his ear.

'Nothing,' said Lupin. 'Just static.'

'If it was so important, he'll find another way to get the message to you,' said Farrows, who had been considering Harry curiously and appeared considerably more amiable now that the spirit had left. 'I hope in a more conventional manner. And keep it, I foresee no use of it for me,' he added, nodding at the dictaphone.

Farrows then stood, a little shakily, and shook Harry's hand. 'Thank you, Harry Potter. You seem like a decent kid, but I hope I never have to see you again or have cause to remember our meeting.'

Harry smiled, but Farrows didn't see – he had already turned his back on him and was walking away from the clearing. Harry knew there was no need to call out and remind him to not repeat to anyone the magic he saw tonight; he was sure Farrows would be burying this memory somewhere deep and inaccessible in his mind.

'You know,' said Lupin thoughtfully, watching Farrows' retreating back, 'perhaps the reason only you could understand the spirit was because you both shared blood as relatives. That's a connection not many could've held.'

'Perhaps,' said Harry, but he felt there was something more to it than that.

He glanced at Lupin, and the expression he saw there, something akin to concern, made him shake his head dismissively.

'M'fine, Remus,' reassured Harry quickly. 'I just didn't think I'd be talking to a dead relative tonight.'

'One of life's many unexpected twists,' said Lupin, smiling so his eyes crinkled kindly. 'But what's life without some adventure? Let's get you home, Harry… before another one finds its way across our path.'

Barely an hour later Harry Potter could be found in the smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive with the appearance of someone deep in thought. He was turning the old muggle dictaphone over in his hand, thinking.

An idea had manifested itself in his mind that both frightened and excited him. Lupin said there was nothing recorded on the tape – just static. But Lupin could not understand Phillip Potter like Harry did. For Harry, there was more to be heard than the sounds of a larynx being oddly warped for foreign use.

Phillip Potter was determined to give Harry a message and not in front of any other soul, even an ally.

And why didn't his grandfather say it outright without all the preamble, if he wanted Harry to survive?

Harry traced around the button with the red triangle on its side with his finger, and knew that whatever the information was, whatever his grandfather had possessed another man for, it was crucial… but not now… for future reference.

It would be something so cryptic Harry couldn't possibly comprehend in the present, but a message that he would have to listen to again, that, in the future, would make utter, profound sense to him.

Heart pounding, Harry pressed 'play'.

**The End.**

**Author's Notes:**

Well, 5 560 words later and I have my first debut fanfic. I've been writing fanfic for myself for so long, but this is the first piece to properly get published (besides the nonsense back when I was thirteen) and most importantly, finished. I have many incomplete but ongoing projects happening at the moment so remember the name Radstock May. I'll be writing more.

A mention to Emmylou, whose plot bunny (#1337) inspired this fic. It really did grow uncontrollably since its conception in December 06, both in length and plot content – only the very basic premise of Emmylou's plotbunny (a muggle possessed with Harry's grandfather) remained the same… the rest strayed completely from what I first planned.

Of course, it's up to you what Phillip Potter's message was, something so crucial to Harry's survival in the war. I had my own ideas, but felt I would leave all that cryptic, profound stuff to JKR.

Other notes: _Expellere _is Latin for expel/banish; _Cordis_ for soul/spirit… so I didn't just invent spell-sounding words.

Also, it was set in the summer of HBP – but that was entirely irrelevant to the plot, really.

Thanks for reading my first ever finished work. I'm not going to beg you to review. But please remember how you felt publishing your first work and what it felt like to receive feedback from readers!


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